


Karkat: encounter flapjacks.

by deadcellredux, orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Community: homesmut, Crack Treated Seriously, Flapjack play, Food Kink, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant, Sexual Fantasy, Wet & Messy, okay maybe just crack, the worst jake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1318306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/pseuds/deadcellredux, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Would you care for a flapjack?" he inquires, ever-cheerful and downright grating as you enter the kitchen. The goofy grin on his face is 100% earnest, and you absolutely <i>hate</i> it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karkat: encounter flapjacks.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [kinkmeme](http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org) prompt _Karkat furiously masturbating in the shower, thinking about just how much he loathes Jake English._
> 
> WHOOPS

You had sincerely hoped that no one else would be in the meteor’s kitchen at this hour, but judging by the sweet stench wafting down the hall, someone is in there and cooking. If you were just grabbing a snack, you’d turn right back around, but unfortunately you promised Rose and Jane that you’d do your dishes first thing in morning. You’ll just go in there, do the dishes, and get the fuck back out.

"Good morning, Mister Vantas!"

 _Oh for fuck’s sake._ It’s Jake.

Not surprisingly, he doesn't give you time to respond before he continues.

"Would you care for a flapjack?" he inquires, ever-cheerful and downright grating as you enter the kitchen. The goofy grin on his face is 100% earnest, and you absolutely hate it.

His statement is so bizarre that it takes you off-guard, causing you to pause and reply rather than shoving past him to get to the sink.

"What the fuck is a flapjack?" you ask, incredulous, though you've already decided that whatever the hell it is, you'd rather devour a dusty, bitter, rainbow buffet of chalk with Terezi than put this … _jackflap_ bullshit in your protein chute.

Jake smiles and holds up a large platter upon which heaps of ugly discs of bread product lay, drenched in a gross amber ooze that reminds you of alien goo bursting out of enemies in a FPS more so than anything that might resemble food. Something clicks, and you realize, immediately, that the awful sweet smell is coming from the stuff. You cringe as he continues.

“Why, it’s a breakfast classic! Flapjacks with real maple syrup! Or, well, I ought to say, real _imitated_ maple syrup, if that even makes sense, har har. Now don’t be shy; you're in luck today, Sir Troll! I’ve made enough for two. Come on chum, step right up with your plate!”

"Don't come near me with that shit," you bark, and take a step back. You want nothing more than to knock that platter out of his hand, if only to see the look on his face, as irrational as that is. Objectively, he isn’t really that much worse than any of your other taintlicking friends, but he _gets_ to you in a way that’s completely beyond reason. The warning bell’s starting to go off in your head; you should just get the hell out.

“C’mon, just give it a try!” he insists, matching your retreat with a stride forward.

"I said I don't want the flapjacks."

You try to push past him, and the next few seconds of your life flash before your eyes before they even happen in the worst-ever montage of pure fucking _fail_ ever imagined. As you take a step, you see it there, dripping over the edge of the plate in Jake's hands-- a thin stream of syrup, which your eyes follow down, down to the floor, into a _puddle_ on the floor into which your foot is about to land, and--

 _Shit._ You already know where this is going. You knew where this was going before you even _tried_ to alter the path of your foot with a switch of your hip but it was too late. You knew it. Your heel slides and you lurch. You're all going down: pancakes, syrup, and one human fuckface. _Smack_.

"Fuck!" you scream, and grasp at the edge of the counter with one hand and Jake's arm with the other in a last failed attempt to steady yourself. You gasp in horror-- _the fucking counter is sticky too._

Jake makes an awful goofy noise as he's tugged down with you, and a fluffy blanket of _fuckflaps_ or whatever the hell they're called slaps down on top of you, along with Jake himself. The clatter of the tin plate against the floor is awful. The smell is awful. Jake is awful. Everything is fucking awful.

Fuck your life.

"Did you have to get syrup on _everything_?" you yell, feeling aching and sore and winded, as you try to shove Jake off of you. He’s heavier than he looks. "What the fuck is your problem? Are you some sort of syrup-obsessed freak? Is this a fetish or something? Do you enjoy rolling around it in and rubbing it all over yourself or something? This is fucking awful. The kitchen is sticky, do you know how fucking disgusting this is? Get the fuck off me--"

With one particularly inept shove, you manage to simply elbow Jake in the stomach. There’s less give that you expected, and while you don’t exactly bounce off of his abs, he doesn’t seem particularly hurt either. If anything, it eggs him on.

“If you wanted a good scrums you could have just asked!” Jake laughs. Rage rises inside you. How the fuck can he be laughing with his breakfast ruined and the two of you both drenched in its saccharine gore?!

“No, I don’t want a scrum--” you manage to squeak, before he pins you down beneath him by the wrists.

His face is inches from yours, glaring down at you, and another emotion rushes through you. It’s not just pure, unadulterated rage. No, it’s definitely been adulterated with...

_Could this be… is it… hate?_

You feel the familiar warmth of arousal as you struggle beneath him. He’s laughing and egging you on with those bullshit chucklefuck phrases of his, and you become aware of the fact that you no longer can smell the sweet stench of syrup. It’s overpowered by something even stronger, kind of spicy, dark, and _revolting_.

 _Is that… Axe?_ You didn’t think humans had Axe too. But no, of course this douchenozzle would fucking wear Axe.

Your bulge has definitely decided to get involved. 

You need to get out now.

You finally put some effort into your struggles, and it seems to take Jake a bit off guard. Your bodies twist, and you realize the sudden and dangerous possibility that Jake might notice the obvious party currently happening in your pants. 

_Fuck this._

You knee him hard in his tender human shame globes, and he lets out a series of undignified exclamations as he topples over.

“Jimmy Christmas! What in the high heavens was that for?! Foul play, sir! Hot butter that hurt!”

The stream of absolute fucking nonsense grows distant as you frantically flee. Your almost slip on syrup again in your haste, but manage to right yourself. 

You have never needed a shower so badly in your life.

\+ + + + +

You can’t deny it, as much as it makes you want to throw yourself into a bottomless chasm and disappear into the abyss. You have _feelings_. Why the fuck do you have to be caliginous for _HIM?!_

The shower is full blast and hot enough to steam up the entire bathroom, but it feels goddamn _chilly_ compared to your rage. You punch the wall of the shower in a motion half-hearted enough to make you feel pathetic, yet hard enough to actually hurt. You curse as you vainly try to shake the sting from your possibly-bruised knuckles. _That was stupid_ , you think, _but not one-thousandth as stupid as the other pathetic emotions coursing through you, so maybe it’s a blessing that you distracted yourself for one fucking second._

The respite doesn’t last long. Your cursing trickles off into an exasperated sigh and you lean your forehead against the wall, idly rubbing your aching hand. As the pain fades, the reason for your initial outburst clearly prances through your mind.

You can’t stop thinking about him. 

Seriously, of all the self-absorbed, ass-backwards, idiotic humans and trolls you know, _Jake fucking English_ is the one who’s now stuck in your mind like hoofbeast droppings on your favorite pair of shoes.

_Or syrup..._

You thought you’d fallen in hate before, but those feelings were nothing compared with the gut-churning detestation you feel for this human boy who had, at first, seemed to be nothing more than an innocuous Egbert lookalike, and yet you’ve now discovered that he is indeed much, _much_ worse than that. You hadn’t thought worse was _possible_. Why were you ever so naive?!

Your sore hand starts to creep across your stomach, and you’re aware of an acute yearning, the steady burn of pitch hate accompanied by undeniable arousal. Jake’s perpetual, idiotic grin seems burned into your mind as your eyes flutter shut.

A quiet groan slips through your lips as your hand finds your bulge and wraps around the base. Your length is already thick and full, slowly writhing with desire. You can’t kid yourself; you hate Jake and you want Jake. There’s no way to deny it, and there’s no one here but your own lust-addled self.

You might as well get down to business.

You shift one foot out further to better reach between your legs as you bring your other hand down. It goes further than your first, past your bulge to slide into the tightness of your nook. 

You begin to embellish on the memory of earlier this morning, shamefully reimagining the events of earlier.

_You’re under him on the floor again, except this time, it’s different. The glint in Jake’s eyes is knowing rather than innocent, his motions oh-so-deliberate as he grabs your hair, his hand sticky with syrup and your eyes roll back as he pulls._

A rational part of your thinkpan reminds you that this is _fucking awful_ , but your desire only heightens as you rub your shame globes through the wall of your nook. No, that’s not quite enough, You stroke your bulge, think pan sifting through other possibilities in your sick fantasy sylladex.

_This time, there are no flapjacks in sight, though Jake is standing over you, a bottle of syrup in one hand. You’re naked, one hand wrapped around your bulge - which you release in embarrassment as soon as you see him. You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing here but it’s a goddamn jacking off fantasy so you stop thinking about that and focus the object of your loathing._

_“You look like you could use a hand there,” Jake says, one eyebrow raised saucily as he gets down on one knee. He doesn’t extend a hand though, and neither do you, as yours are otherwise occupied. There are two ways he could mean that, but there’s no way he’s going to actually help you with either. You simply prop yourself up on your elbows, cheeks burning bright red, and glare at him defiantly._

_Sure enough, his free hand instead goes to sensually caress the syrup bottle, making exaggerated motions with his fingertips as if he’s teasing a ticklish lover. It’s like something out of a bad porn gif, yet your bulge is still full with arousal and shifting across your stomach, begging for you to return to your ministrations._

_“Or perhaps,” he continues, “some lubrication.” He punctuates it with the goofiest wink possible and you roll your eyes - which is where your first mistake is._

You can’t believe that you’re actually thinking this right now. _This is downright fucking vile…_

_Whatever._

_Jake’s hand lands on your hip, pinning you in place, his calloused, large hand warm against your skin. What follows, however, is cold and smooth and sticky and terrible and all over your goddamn bulge. You swear like a subjuggalator witnessing blasphemy, bubbling with rage, as he pours the entire contents of the bottle over you, drizzling from the base of your ribcage all the way down your stomach and thighs. With his iron grip, you can’t wiggle away, so instead the sap covers your lower torso, coating your bulge and dripping down your nook. It’s going to take forever to clean off, but Jake’s just grinning at you stupidly, like he did something to help._

_“I daresay that should be wet enough, don’t you, chap? But our jolly breakfast is just getting started, isn’t it?”_

Yeah. You can’t help but smile to yourself at how brilliantly you’ve managed to capture his kooky voice.

_Suddenly you remember that you have hands that you could be using, and you grab for him. He laughs and tosses the bottle aside, freeing both hands to promptly grab your wrists. With his strength and size, he’s able to shove your wrists together, grab them in just one hand, and push them back down. Of course, he’s still straddling you, but now he’s leaning over more, his body nearly parallel with you. His free hand runs across your belly, sliding through the syrup and down to your soaked, uncomfortable, and yet still lively bulge._

_“I’m sure, my good fellow, you’re wondering what else we need to get underway to a truly remarkable morning meal experience!” His hand briefly squeezes your bulge but doesn’t stop there. His long fingers move lower still until they’re caressing nook. Jake envelops them with one of his large hands, covering them and just barely teasing the entrance between them, the spot where your wetness is less syrup and more desire. “I reckon your muffin could use some... sausage.” He wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis._

You shudder and bang your forehead against the wall as you come. Genetic material shoots out of your bulge, splattering the shower wall, and your nook throbs rhythmically around your fingers. You curse and gasp and nearly lose your balance, but the pleasure flows out of you quickly, leaving you shaking and weak. You sink down, sitting on the floor of the shower, your sticky cum still beneath you, the water taking its sweet time washing it away.

You just jacked off to fantasizing about Jake English. 

You just jacked off to fantasizing about Jake English _pouring maple syrup on you and calling his penis a sausage._

You bury your face in your hands and wonder how the fuck you reached this new, spectacular, unforeseen low.


End file.
